


One Night

by the-eagle-of-masyaf (Dunkelherz)



Series: There's Always A First [4]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Childbirth, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Fatherhood, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Major Illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 13:57:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1651097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dunkelherz/pseuds/the-eagle-of-masyaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, the border between joy and sorrow is very, very thin. Altair realizes that all too painful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Night

When Altair opened the door to his and Maria's private room he wasn't alone. “Go rest Rahim,” he said and placed his hand gently onto the old man's shoulder who was sitting -or more like, sleeping- in a chair in front of the door leading to their bedroom. “I take it from here.”

 

Rahim looked up at him, eyes tired and bloodshot. He'd been here at least for the last twenty four hours, taking constantly watch – Altair had picked Rahim for this job for a reason, after all. When the man looked up at him with a worried face, he was reminded of that reason once more - Rahim simply _cared._ “How's the Lady doing?”, he asked as he pushed himself off the chair, his old bones cracking as they popped back into place.

 

“She's in labor,” Altair simply told him, sounding indifferent.

 

“And you're here?” Rahim didn't sound surprised though.

 

Altair nodded, “You've heard what the healers said.” He cocked his head to one side, his face hidden in the comfortable shadows of his hood. “Maria will bear me another son tonight while my firstborn might die tonight. My place is here, with Darim.” His throat closed around the words and they felt like razorblades cutting into every muscle of his body, making it hard to breath and yet he did, his voice not even trembling.

 

It was Rahim now who squeezed Altair's shoulder, one of the very few man who he'd allow such a gesture. “I will come look for him later. Right now we can only pray that the fever goes down.” But Altair had stopped praying a long, long time ago. “If it gives you comfort, maybe you should then,” he offered to Rahim. He looked at Altair for a long time. “Sometimes the strangest of things brings us peace,” he said in a small nod. “I will keep Darim in my prayers tonight, my good master.” He bowed his head in a gesture of respect and closed the door gently behind him as he left the room.

 

When Altair opened the door to his bedroom, his eyes fell instantly onto the bed. It was too big for such a small body but there he was lying on Maria's side underneath nothing but a thin blanket, sweaty and breathing heavily. His eyes flew open when he heard the door closing heavily, the pupils blown wide. “Baba...”, he said in the most pitiful little voice, close to tears.

 

Altair closed the distance between him and his son and sat down onto the mattress. Darim moved but wasn't able to crawl forwards – six days of a high fever had weakened the little boy too much so he simply scooped him up underneath his arms and pulled his son against his chest, holding him in his arms. Darim was burning, his sweat soaked hair clinging to his head resting on Altair's shoulder. Earlier that day Darim had been hallucinating, screaming in pure terror when his father had entered the room – Altair released a breath he wasn't aware of holding that this time it wasn't the case.

 

He listened to his son's heavy breathing. He didn't know what caused the fever, the healers didn't either. Darim had told him for a couple of days how much his throat had hurt, then he'd felt weak and ill, throwing up more than one time on Maria's lap – and then the fever had come and it had gotten worse. It'd been yesterday one of the men treating to Darim's health had come to his study, telling him how it was in plain simple words. The boy might die. They simply assumed that Darim's fever had reached its peak right now, telling the Grandmaster all they could do now was wait for it to drop again. The boy's body was either strong enough to take or... it wasn't. Right now Altair didn't dare to hope. It was funny how he'd never feared anything when he was funny, simply because he thought he had the best skills, the best weapons – he'd thought he was indestructible and that thought alone had not only made him arrogant but also fearless. Now that was a long time ago but Altair had never thought that being helpless was such a horrible feeling. He would face a thousand armies in the blink of an eye but his son was lying in his arms and he was closer to death than to life and- no parent ever should experience something like that.

 

Altair rubbed his hand across the small back, feeling every single bone there. It'd been a few days since Darim had eaten last and with a small child like him, it showed quickly when they weren't eating, losing weight faster than an adult would. He'd always thought he'd paid for his mistakes in the past and made it up to fate by killing the one person who's been like a father to him through most of his adult life but apparently, he'd been wrong. Fate played another trick on him and Altair gritted his teeth. No, this wasn't fate. Life was just cruel like that.

 

He thought back to the days when he's been a child. Back then he'd thought he and everybody he liked was indestructible. Bad things happened to people he didn't know, he held no connection with. All of that had changed with the death of his father, when he finally realized life could be like that, hard and unforgivable. He felt a little like a small boy again. Darim couldn't die – it wasn't _right_. Men died, outside on the battlefield, because of old age or an illness. They died with gray hair and wrinkles around their eyes. It was the way of life but not for a child. As a father, he wasn't supposed to hold his dying first born in his arms. 

 

He'd fallen asleep some time in the middle of the night. While his enemies and even some of his Brothers thought Altair was no human, some even dared to whisper and call him a god, he was nothing but a man. A man with basic needs, a man who could bleed and cry and laugh as well as anybody else. He'd fallen asleep simply due to the fact he'd hardly slept these last couple of nights. Darim was still clutched to his chest, eyes closed and hanging lifelessly in his arm. He brushed wet hair from his forehead, the back of his fingers traveling down his cheek. He looked peaceful, his skin as pale as Altair had seen it from the English men. It looked unreal, unnatural, faked. This was not how his boy was supposed to look and Altair shifted, one hand coming up to support Darim's neck, fingers moving through wet hair. 

 

Darim moaned, stretching in his arms and hot waves of breath coiled against Altair's throat as he took one steady breath after another. “How do you feel?”, he asked but Darim simply shook his head, eyes still tightly shut. “You're going to do better soon,” he said even though he didn't know when that would be – right now, he tried to trust the healer's words, that the fever really had reached its peak. 

 

There was a knock at the door, a quiet, almost weak knock and Altair knew who it belonged to. “Come in Rahim...”

 

The old man simply opened the door wide enough to stuck his head into the room. “The young master has arrived,” he said and Altair could see how there was just the hint of a smile on his lips and the lines of worry thick on his forehead. When he saw one of Darim's hands move, they eased if only a little. “The Mistress is tired, but she is well,” he said with a small nod.

 

“Thank you Rahim,” he told him, then looked at Darim in his arms. “Tell her not to worry.” Because he knew Maria loved her son more than she loved Altair.

 

“I will, Grandmaster.” 

 

He watched how Rahim closed the door behind him once more, the soft thuds of his steps getting quieter as he walked away. 

 

“You're a big brother now Darim,” he said and brushed some hair out of Darim's face but the boy didn't even stir in his sleep. “And you will love your brother like I love you. And you will protect your brother like I protect you.”

 


End file.
